Praying for Daylight
by Silk Milk
Summary: /Disney's HoND/ Marie Bessette despised gypsies ever since the passing of her husband. However, when a particular purple and gold gypsy tries to change her opinion, her life becomes something that she never expected it to be: exciting. /ClopinOC fanfic/


**Alright! I've been on this site for 3 years, maybe, but I've never actually writting anything that I thought was worthy of being put up until now. I still don't think that it's as good as some others that I have read but I hope to improve and get there someday. **

**Back to important matters, I felt as though there wasn't enough Clopin fanfiction so I decided to write one, seeing as how it's now one of my favorite Disney movies. It's right up there next to The Great Mouse Detective. **

**Disclaimer: Although I wish to work for Disney in the near future, I do not own anything it produces. Therefore, I only own Marie Bessette and her friends and family. **

**_Chapter 1_**

The young woman didn't understand. It was a fair day in late March where the sun blessed the Earth with it's radiant sheen. The birds merrily sang on their way home from the South and even the Paris guards were feeling the overall enchantment of incoming Spring. Merchants displayed their colorful array of goods that were to be sold and called out to passing peasants, in hopes of getting their attention. Yet, despite their efforts, the brilliant purple and golden gypsy caravan attracted quite the masses; although, there were more children than adults and more bad than good attention, it had many viewers. The one thing that was missing from an otherwise complete image was the fruit merchant, who's stall remained unoccupied. The befuddled woman glanced around for any sign of another fruit stand but a vegetable stall was as close as she could come in the plaza. Now, how was she to get blackcurrant to make jam for her and her husband?

Thankfully, someone happened to notice her muddled expression. "_Excusez-moi_," uttered an aged woman who had a woven basket, filled with an assortment of cabbages, dangling from her arm. She had been shopping for her family as well when she saw the troubled youth. "Do you need help finding something?"

"_Non,_ _madame,_" the girl sighed with relief that someone finally showed her some kindness. It was only recently that her husband bought a cottage here in Paris, France so she had yet to find her way around. "I was just confused as to why the merchant who owns this stand isn't selling produce today."

A look of astonishment spread across the woman's wrinkly features. "You mean you don't know?"

The girl blinked innocently. Apparently, she had missed something important. "Know what, _madame_?"

The elderly shook lightly her head at the girl's ignorance and her expression was then replaced with one of mourning; she turned to the bare stall and explained, "You see, this stand belongs to a young woman, Marie Bessette."

At that moment, in a quaint wooden cottage that was surrounded with numerous flowers, sat cross-legged a young woman of 23. Letting off a light scowl, she pulled her chestnut hair away from her face in frustration and rubbed her ears in hopes to subdue the deep burning sensation.

"What's the matter, Marie?" Her light blond friend bounced into the room with a chuckle and a bouquet of freshly cut callas.

"My ears just itch is all." Marie answered as she smoothed her dainty hands over her hair. It was the second time today that she had the familiar tingle in her ear.

"That means someone's talking about you."

"Nonsense," Marie retaliated as she stood from the oak chair in her friend's living room and straightened the creases out of her red skirt. Turning to the blond, she grinned at how angelic the woman appeared with her golden tresses cascading down her back in loose ringlets. Her eyes were an extravagant shade of cerulean which made Marie's eyes look dull in comparison. A golden ring on her left hand stood out against the white of the blond's gown. Of course, the bouquet of pearly callas almost completed the image. She would be worthy of having a statue of herself in the Cathedral if it weren't for the absence of snowy wings.

"Here's the flowers you asked for." She carefully handed the delicate flowers over to Marie, who took them with a grateful smile.

"_Merci_, Noelle. I really appreciate this." Marie curtsied to her friend in gratitude.

"Think nothing of it." Noelle said with a elegant wave of her hand. Gardening was a hobby the two women shared. However, there was one difference; Marie harvested fruit for money and Noelle grew flowers simply for the joy of it. "I know it's only the afternoon, but why don't you join us for supper later tonight?"

A dark shadow fell over Marie's soft features for an instant before swinging to an expression of repentant. "_Je et désolé,_ Noelle," she apologized, "but tonight is my husband's anniversary."

Noelle's hopeful look faded at her answer and Marie could feel the familiar aura of sympathy radiating from her. Ever since a year ago, people have had that atmosphere encircling them whenever she was in their presence. At some points it was almost suffocating.

"I understand, Marie." Noelle softly replied and gave her friend a comforting pat on the shoulder. "But you'll join us tomorrow, _non?_"

Marie chuckled at her persistence and nodded whole-heartedly. "Of course, Noelle."

They then relocated themselves out in the gardens among the wild blossoms that swayed joyously in the spring breeze. Noelle had dug her ceramic teapot out of the cabinets so that she may enjoy a cup of brewed tea with her closest friend out in the calming atmosphere; although, she almost dropped it on her way out the door. While conversing over tea, Noelle began to speak of the nausea she was feeling earlier that morning. She was in the middle of explaining that it was something that she ate when she suddenly excused herself and made a mad dash inside to empty the contents of her stomach.

Just as the sun started to graze the horizon and the skies were painted with brilliant hues of pink, yellow, and blue, Marie realized that it was about time for her to get going if she wanted to make it to her destination before sundown. Saying her _adieus_, she embraced her friend one final time before retrieving her cinnamon cloak and trekking her way across the cobblestone walkway.

As last rays of the sun spilled over the horizon, life on the streets of Paris began to wind down for the night. Shops were shutting down, goods were being put in boxes, the merchants were counting today's income, and worn out mothers were taking their fussy children home, where they would be put to bed. The evening masses also began after sunset. In fact, it was around the time when--

_**Bong! Bong!**_

Dropping her bouquet from the jolt of her body, Marie's figure recoiled and an icy tingle crawled up her spine at the toll of the bells of Notre Dame. She quickly brought a quivering hand to her chest in hopes to calm her racing heart. Those cursed bells alarmed the poor mademoiselle from the wee hours of daybreak to the dark hours of eventide; they had a way of making poor Marie shrink in surprise.

Fluffing the crinkles out of her crimson dress, she managed to recollect herself and tugged her cloak hood back over her russet locks to shield herself from the approaching chill of night. Marie let out a small gasp as out of the corner of her rust colored eyes she saw a moving silhouette.

It was a gypsy, a very lean one that almost seemed to tower over her due to her miniature frame. His face was long with a rather elongated nose and a slightly prominent chin that bore a dark goatee. Beaming dark eyes peered at her from behind a plum mask as he offered her a friendly smile which revealed his pearly whites. Marie was quite taken to his violet hat which sported a goldenrod feather and was perched on top of his black hair that had the similar straightness of her own tresses. Yet, she was slightly distracted by his theatrical purple and gold jester costume but then remembered that this particular gypsy was a puppeteer at a nearby caravan dressed in similar shades. After getting a good look at him, she stood her ground and held her heated gaze on the gypsy man, for in his gloved hands he held her precious bouquet of callas.

"Those are _my_ flowers." She snapped at the man, her words dripping with venom.

"I was simply returning them to you, _mon cher_," said the gypsy as he gingerly held out the arrangement for her to take, almost as if he was trying to coax a rabbit out of it's hole.

Seeing as he was a gypsy and they weren't to be trusted, Marie gazed into his lucid eyes, hoping to find some clue as to what his real intentions were; fortunately, she couldn't find any signs of dishonesty or deviousness and instead she saw warmth and kindness. Her stare darted back and forth between her flowers and the man for a moment before she snatched the flowers away from him and hugged them close to her bosom, as if it were a newborn child. The man had no idea how much sentimental value she had for the blossoms, which were for someone much more important than herself.

Her gaze slowly shifted back to the gypsy and was mildly surprised to find a gracious smile upon his thin lips. She couldn't help but spit out a sour, "I must say that this is a bit... _different_, seeing as how you gypsies usually steal from my fruit stand." However, remorse soon played its toll and after a long pause, she added a soft, "_Merci bien que..._"

"You're welcome." He said with a light nod but then his beaming expression faded and a dark eyebrow raised in curiosity when he finally began to recognize her as well. "May I ask why the fruit merchant wasn't at her stall today?"

Unfortunately for Marie, her produce stand was just across the plaza from the violet and gold eyesore of a caravan, which meant that she got the pleasure of getting a headache from it's blazing colors all day every day. Plus, the fact that his kind occasionally stole from her fruit display didn't help her already bitter feelings toward gypsies.

But at that moment, she was grateful for the gypsy's question reminded her of something that was at the top of her priority list. "I must be going. Tonight is my husband's anniversary." She said with haste and threw a quick 'goodbye' over her shoulder as she dashed away.

The gypsy man watched, with inquisitiveness, as the young woman disappeared around a corner and he had a pretty good idea of where she might have been going. For when he handed her flowers over to her, he had noticed that a ring was missing from her left hand.

There was just enough daylight left for Marie to make it home before it got too dark to find her way. The gate hinges creaked and moaned with age as she pushed lightly pushed past the rusty cemetery gateway, which would have confirmed the gypsy's assumption. She silently made her way around the grave sites of other deceased residents of Paris, careful not to lay a single footstep on top of any of them. The last thing she would want to do is disrespect the dead, not when someone that she was so close to was now among them.

Marie felt a familiar twinge of anguish as she noticed a funeral ending on a hill over yonder. All of the other attendees seemed to have left save for a young woman, who sobbed silently before the tombstone of the recently departed. Tearing her eyes away from the sight, Marie scrambled across the cemetery grounds in search of one marker in particular. She relaxed a tad upon seeing the familiar headstone that was embedded in the cold ground. It almost seemed like it was invisible next to the grand monument that had a cross engraved in the largest tombstone in the cemetery.

As Marie knelt before the marker that she had been hunting for, all of the feelings that she spent a whole year trying to overcome came rushing back all at once. Dropping the bouquet of callas, she brought her shaky hands to her face to catch the tears that dripped from her copper eyes. Soon enough, the tears began to slow their production and Marie clasped her quaking hands together to say a small prayer in respect for her lost loved one. She sniffed and lifted her head to gaze one final time upon the words inscribed in the stone.

**Nicolas Bessette**

**A loyal soldier and loving husband**

**October 17th 1444 – March 24th 1471**

"I miss you, Nicolas." Marie's voice trembled as she spoke up toward the darkening skies in hopes that he would perhaps here her from where ever he was. "I still can't believe it's only been a year since you passed on. It feels like so much longer--"

Tears came flowing back into her vision and her throat seemed to close up, preventing her from speaking anymore. She left her little visit with one final prayer before returning back to an empty home, where she would have a small supper alone and then climb into her bed, with the other half still folded as neatly as Nicolas had left it.

**Tell me what you think? I take constructive criticism very well so don't worry about hurting my feelings.**


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